"You didn't die did you?" is what the text message says. And you almost return it. Almost. But you're hiding and that completely defeats the purpose. You know you're probably ruining everything, but that's basically what you do so it doesn't shock you. You fully admit that you're hiding. You've also been accused of running, but you're adamant that isn't what you're doing at all. You're hiding. And you're damn good at it. It's simply coincidence that you were offered a job out of town. You'll respond with as much eventually. Or send a "I've moved!" postcard out. It would likely be the only one you send out but the sender of this text message doesn't need to do it.
You straighten your tie and take a look at the luggage behind you and assure yourself that you are never going to be in this situation again. You are never going to let yourself down like this again. You ignore the fact that it does hurt. Of course it hurts, you've gone and made the exact same mistake all over again (or something like it). It's just what you do. You don't want to say the words even in your head. They are strong words that you had no business trying to understand and even less business trying to apply to yourself. That's not who you are, and it's certainly not what anyone wants from you. You don't even know if that's what this is, or was, or could be. When fondness and amusement turned to something else, an annoying twinge and an urge to say something ridiculous like 'we should see each other more often' or 'I think I'm going to stay here for a while longer' or 'stop fucking everything that moves and I'll do the same thing' he knew it was time to take a few steps back. Two thousand miles to be precise.